


Meow, Motherfucker

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Animals, Ensemble Cast, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash gets a cat. Well, more like a cat gets Wash.The military isn’t made for this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meow, Motherfucker

     Wash was 13 when he got his first cat.

     He didn’t ask for the thing. It was supposed to be his mother’s cat. In the aftermath of his parents amicable divorce, she’d gone on a bit of a midlife crisis which resulted in a few eccentric boyfriends, a brand new minivan, and Whiskers, a 1 year old shelter cat who thought the world revolved around his fluffy white tail.

     Wash hated him within the first day of his residence. One, because he was sick of his mother’s impulse buying. Two, because Whiskers introduced himself to the teen by peeing on his brand name sneakers.

     It was an antagonistic relationship.

     It kept like that for awhile, Wash glaring at the furry thing while it licked its paws, Whiskers knocking over his shit just to prove he could. It was the suburbian equivalent of all out war. But when Wash’s mother forgot to stop feeding the thing and Wash stepped up to take care of the little devil, a truce was called. Whiskers stopped messing with Wash’s stuff. He decided to use the litter box instead of Wash’s shoes. And when Wash was unceremoniously dumped by his first girlfriend at a Dennys, well Whiskers let Wash pet him until he stopped sobbing.

     After that, Whisker’s remained Wash’s perpetual shadow until Wash got deployed.

     Whisker’s was dead now. He got himself run over before Freelancer. Wash dreamt about him some nights, dreamt about the idiot lying on his chest and purring loud enough to echo downstairs. They were nice dreams, a change from the blood soaked nightmares that usually occupied his early hours of the morning. It was like Whiskers was watching over him after all these years.

     In short, Wash had a soft spot for cats. Or to be more specific, Wash had a soft spot for cats that were _absolute assholes_.

     Taking in Director was practically destiny.

 

***

     Wash didn’t even know cats could survive on Chorus.

     It didn’t seem likely, given the state of the planet. The civil war hadn’t exactly made the place friendly to its local wildlife let alone domestic animals. Since Wash had crash landed, he hadn’t seen much outside of hulking large animals and a couple of alien birds. The idea that a cat could survive both a civil war and predators three times it size was laughable.

     To be fair, the thing he found wasn’t exactly a cat, strictly speaking. For one, it had two tails. It also had blue fur with green stripes. It probably didn’t share any lineage with the cats that graced Earth.

     But it looked like Whiskers. It had the same lean muzzle, the same sharp claws and the same yellow eyes. So, in Wash’s mind, it was a cat.

     “Hey little guy,” he said, walking into the small clearing where the cat was located. He’d been exploring the small forest areas outside the base when he spotted the thing. He could still hear Grif and Simmon’s screaming at each other.  The feline was situated on top of a small rock, licking at its claws. It’s tongue was purple. “You get yourself lost?”

     The voice he was using was a voice he hadn’t used in years. It hurt his throat. The cat looked up at him and tilted its head, narrowing its eyes. Sizing him up. The thing thought it could take an armed special ops agent in a fight. It was almost funny.

     “Look buddy,” he said stepping closer so he was closer to the thing. “You’re pretty close to an active military base right now. An active military base full of guys who have really terrible aim. You might want to find another rock to perch on.” The cat didn’t move, instead lowering its paw back down to rest on the rock. Its claws were out. Wash moved closer. “You got an owner? Or are you a wild cat or something?” He couldn’t see a collar but it’d be good to check. “I’m gonna just check your neck real quick to see if you got a tag...” He extended his hand out a foot from the creature.

     The cat swiped forward, its claws running past the armor. Well, through the armor. Wash felt a sudden flare of pain on his hand and he let out a yelp, jumping backwards to clutch his hand. The cat didn’t react to the noise, instead lifting up its paw again to lick the blood off. He looked down at his armor which now features three lines running through the top of the wrist plate.

     “You fucking cut me! You asshole!” The cat flicked its tail to the right, as if it was saying “so what?” Wash pried off his gauntlet to get a look at the damage. His armor had taken most of the impact and as a result, the wounds on his wrist were relatively similar to that of a regular cat scratch. “I can’t believe this! You can cut through armor? Aliens, I fucking swear to God!”

     He swore for a couple more minutes, watching as the blood slowed and began to scab over. The cat didn’t move from its perch, watching Wash with an expression that looked close to amusement. After five minutes Wash got up and forced his gauntlet back on, trying not to wince as the armor brushed past the new wound.

     “I swear if this gets infected...” he muttered. He glared at the cat for a few seconds until he remembered that he was wearing his helmet and thus accomplishing nothing besides looking stupid. “Just get out of here, okay, you shit? It won’t end well for you if you stay.” With that he stalked off, not bothering look behind him.

     He didn’t notice the thing was following him until he was already back inside the base.

***

     “Nice cat,” Grif said as they settled down at the mess table two days later. They’d all just woken up and as a result, no one was wearing their armor except Sarge, who Wash assumed slept with it on. “Where’d you get it?”

     Wash looked down at the cat who was currently sprawled across his lap like it was his (it was a he, Wash had checked) personal heating pad. “It’s not my cat. It’s a mooching asshole.” He dug his spoon into his oatmeal and took a large bite. It tasted like paste. “And it followed me here.”

     “So it’s Grif then?” Simmons said. Grif responded by pushing his fellow soldier off the bench, food tray and all. Simmon’s oatmeal bowl ended up falling flat on his face. No one besides Sarge laughed. They knew better than to encourage them.

     “Good one, Simmons!” Sarge said. Simmons lifted up his robotic hand to give a thumbs up.

     “Thanks, Sir.”

     “I don’t like cats.” Caboose was sitting at the far end of the table, right behind Carolina, like she could protect him from the creature’s wrath. Carolina seemed to be taking it pretty well, continuing to eat like normal. Out of everyone, she dealt best with Caboose’s moments of absurdity. Wash sometimes wondered if it was from having two AI’s at the same time; maybe she was used to the chaos. “My sister got one once and it was big and it ate my shoes. And my dog. Also maybe my car. It was a confusing time.”

     “What kind of fucking cats did you have on the moon?” Wash ignored Tucker, who clearly had yet to learn that not questioning Caboose’s statements was for the best. He looked down at the feline who was looking up at him with wide eyes and a begging expression. Wash rolled his eyes and reached for one of his sausages before throwing it down to the creature. It ate it in one bite.

     “Mooch,” Wash said but there was no bite to it. The cat rolled over in his lap and pressed its chest into his t-shirt, purring at a low volume. “You are an asshole. You are not my cat.”

     Wash ignored the sound of Church laughing on Carolina’s shoulder.

***

  _He was being ripped to pieces, torn in half right down the middle, the bleeding wounds of his missing limbs being sown up with flaming thread and he was tired so tired-_

     Wash woke up with a gasp, a scream caught in his throat. He flailed in his bed, desperate to move, to get away, and the movement sent him sprawling to the hardwood floor, his sheets tangled up in his legs. He breathed deeply down there for a few minutes, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating.

     He hadn’t had that nightmare in awhile. He thought he might have finally banished it. So much for that dream.

     Wash felt something lick his hand and he turned his head to find the cat right there. He could already feel a headache building behind his eyes. “Look, man, I don’t have time for you, right now-”

     He didn’t continue. The cat pushed itself under his arm so it was curled up right by his side, so his hand was resting right on his neck. Wash could feel the things heartbeat with his fingers. It didn’t move, instead content to just sit there and close its eyes. After a few seconds of counting the things heartbeat (1, 2, 3, 4-) Wash began to pet it behind the neck, a gesture Whiskers used to love.

     They were on the floor for 15 minutes before Wash spoke again.

     “You’re still an asshole you know.” The cat purred in response. “You’re gonna get an asshole name. Like an epic asshole name. The name of the king of the assholes.” He paused and for the first time since he woke up, a small smile graced his face.

     “How do you feel about Director?”

 

 

 


End file.
